


You Make Me

by not_a_chew_toy



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Historical Inaccuracy, Pining, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Slow Burn, probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:14:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22596883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_a_chew_toy/pseuds/not_a_chew_toy
Summary: After one too many close calls showcasing Aziraphale's abysmal survival instincts, Crowley decides he needs a way to make sure he'll always know when the angel needs help. So he slaps an occult metaphysical tracker on him, and calls it a day. And everything is fine, until the Apocalypse-that-isn't, and now Crowley may actually have to explain himself. Awkward.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 325





	You Make Me

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Good Omens Big Bang, my first fic in over ten years! I can't help it, the soft boys get to me. Art by the lovely edensfallenangel [here](https://edensfallenangelart.tumblr.com/post/190694547459/you-make-me-my-piece-for-the-good-omens-big) on tumblr.

In the time Before, before time was even really a concept, Before there was much of anything other than God, Her angels, and the slowly-spun out universe, Crawley had vague memories of Feelings. Mostly Love. Love for Her, Love for his fellow angels. After the Fall, everything became much clearer, but nothing so much as that absence, the Love gone, carved out of his chest and left gaping and empty. It took him awhile to realize that he Sees the Feelings, rather than feeling them. It took until he Sees God's two hairless apes before he realized. To be fair, everyone down in Hell was the same miasma of black, sticky hatred and grey depression. It wasn't until he Sees Eve radiating strange new colors all over the place that he realized there even _were_ new colors. 

He had vague memories of these colors in his toolbox, nestled in with starstuff and the seedlings for new galaxies, but having them on this dirtball planet is new. Once he started getting the hang of mimicking the two-legged creatures, he realized he could see both better and worse: losing a bit of the details of the snake, but seeing the much better colors of the humans. 

Crawley contented himself wandering Eden, enjoying the break from Down Below in ways he knew he couldn't let anyone find out, or they'd chuck him back down faster than the Fall. But Eden wasn't all that big, in the end, and one day he found himself near the Eastern gate. Which was interesting, because yesterday he knew there hadn't been a Gate in this area. He was pretty sure there hadn't even been directions, yesterday. 

There was a being sitting high on the wall, and Crawley immediately knew it wasn't another hairless ape simply because they hadn't managed to get to the edges of Eden yet, let alone enough to climb all the way atop the wall. Crawley settled around a sturdy branch, hidden among the leaves as he studied the other being. 

White blond curls, soft grey eyes, watching Adam and Eve a ways off playing in something Crawley heard Eve call "flowers". He didn't blame them, the nap he'd taken the other day in the "flowers" was pretty nice. The being on the wall had a soft smile on its face, and looked perfectly content there. 

An angel, then. 

Crawley's tongue flickered out, scenting the air. There was the trees, the heavy sweet scent of fruit hanging off them, the fresh new dirt of the Garden. But underneath, faintly, he could smell something softer, gentle, but with a strange undercurrent. Fresh air with a bit of ozone. 

What stalled him the most though, what kept him staring long past when he would've thought he'd lose interest, was what he Sees. Even in the serpent's eyes, the colors of the angel were different from anything he'd ever seen. The angel was positively glowing, a bright white shot through with warm gold, and Crawley wanted to wrap around the angel and sink into the light, feel it on his scales. It should maybe worry him how visceral the wanting was, but in all the time since his Fall, he'd never seen anything he would call beautiful, and now he could think of no other word for the angel. 

Crawley watched the angel off and on for the next stretch of time. He wandered the edges of the Garden, wanting to know if there were other directions, other Gates. 

Other angels. 

He did find other Gates, but the other angels weren't pretty like the Eastern angel. Their light was cold, harsh, it hurt his eyes and made his scales bristle. So he kept coming back to the Eastern gate, fascinated and not a hundred percent sure what he was even doing. He was supposed to be making trouble for the humans, not getting obsessed with some random angel. 

Then he saw the Tree. The apples dotting it were all perfect, large and red and shiny, and thrumming with power. 

Power, and a hint of danger. 

Safely wrapped around a branch on a neighboring tree, Crawley stretched his body out as far as he could, until he could just barely flick his tongue against the firm, ripe skin of a low-hanging apple. He could feel the energy pulsing through it, the Life. He wondered what would happen if one of the hairless apes ate one. 

_Well_ , he thought, watching the two humans trudging out into the endless sands, _apparently that was what would happen if the humans ate one of the Apples_. 

Bit of an overreaction, wasn't it?

He hadn't really meant for that to happen, necessarily, but he supposed it was going to get him points Down Below, maybe let him stay up here a little longer. 

Plus, it gave him an excuse to talk to the Eastern angel, which he was currently finding out was so much worse than just staring at him from afar. Up close, he could see that most of the angel's glow was that soft, warm gold, flaring brighter up near his head and turning his halo of curls into an almost literal halo. At the moment though the gold was shot through with deep blue, and he was wringing his hands together fretfully. 

Then he told Crawley he'd given the humans his flaming sword, and Crawley felt a strange swooping sensation in his new weird body. Maybe that was why he glowed gold. This angel was different. Still, Crawley wanted to ease some of the tension he could see, and he didn't examine that feeling too closely. 

"I don't know that you could do the wrong thing, really," he said, fascinated by the little glances the angel kept throwing his way. They weren't the looks prey would give a predator, or the looks one would give an Enemy, waiting for the strike. No, there was even a bit of a smile in this last one, as the angel thanked him and the dark blue that was shot through his aura started to melt back into gold. 

"Aziraphale," the angel said, as they watched Adam and Eve stumble off into the desert, as Crawley edged closer under the angel's wing and squinted suspiciously at the water starting to pool near their feet. He glanced over with another wide-eyed look. 

"What?" 

"Aziraphale," the angel said, "my name. And, er, you are…?" He trailed off, and Crawley had never before hated his name, not the one he was given after the Before, after the Fall, but he abruptly found he didn't want to hear what it would sound like in the angel's soft voice. Still, it would be better than "demon" or "serpent".

"Crawley," he said with a sigh, resolutely not looking at Aziraphale so he didn't have to see how the angel received his name. There was silence for several moments before the angel broke it again.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, I suppose." He still sounded a little unsure, though he'd stopped the hand wringing, at least. Crawley couldn't help the disbelieving snort and the quick grin, utterly surprised by this angel time and again.

"Say that to all the demons you meet guarding the wall, do you?" He'd meant for it to be teasing, but a trickle of red flowed into Aziraphale's aura and he frowned, pursing his lips. Annoyance, maybe? 

"I wouldn't know, actually," he said, "You're the first demon I've met here. The first one I've even seen in Eden. Er, is that on-- that is to say, why do you suppose that is?" Crawley shrugged. 

"Guess nobody else wanted to come up," he said, "None of the rest of your lot seemed happy to be here anyway either." 

"No, I suppose not," Aziraphale said, though it was murmured quietly enough Crawley thought he may not have been meant to hear it.

They stayed on the wall like that, silent and watching, until the rain cleared up and they couldn't see the small figures anymore, even with varied occult and celestial eye sight. 

*****

_At what point_ , Crowley thought, _does one stop considering it sheer dumb bloody luck--good, bad, or otherwise-- and start considering--_

His gaze flicked upwards, lips drawn back in a silent hiss. 

_\-- ineffability?_

The angel wasn't even supposed to _be_ here! Granted, Crowley technically wasn't either, he'd been tagging along with the latest Crusade, because it just tickled the Dukes down Below that a whole set of people just kept straight murdering each other all in the name of God. He really was just information gathering and trying to fly under the radar. 

Aziraphale, on the other hand, had been on his way to France, he'd thought, what the hell was he doing in Constantinople? Crowley had been passing by the church, trying to skirt the wave of invaders he could hear coming, when he heard a scream and saw several nuns gathered around a cart full of what looked like religious relics and listing on a broken wheel. He'd rolled his eyes, never understanding how humans could put old objects above their own lives, and had just been about to hurry over when he realized one of the nuns was distinctly more male-presenting than the rest. 

"Quickly, miss, we must hurry if you're all to make it to the edge of the city!" Aziraphale was saying, voice urgent and low. That was enough to snap Crowley out of his daze and he darted forward with a curse. 

He possibly should've called out first, gotten the angel's attention somehow, but by the time he realized that fact there was already a sword arcing down through the air, aimed firmly at his face. With another curse and a tiny demonic miracle, he edged to the side, hand latching onto Aziraphale's wrist as the angel's wide eyes fell on him with a strange mix of panic and no small amount of relief. 

"Easy, angel! It's me!" 

"Oh Crowley!" Aziraphale flinched and lowered his voice. "What are you doing here?"

" _Me?_ What am _I_ doing here? What are _you_ doing here?!" Crowley hissed indignantly. He eyed the nuns crowded around them, most of whom seemed frozen in place by fear. A roar of anticipation went up a few streets over, and as one the nuns scrambled back towards the cart, and he sighed in relief even as he glanced back over his shoulder. The rest of the street was still empty, but that wouldn't last long. 

"I helped set up the hospital here," Aziraphale said, trying to juggle his sword and some sort of bronze statue, "I've just been checking up, but we got word of the siege too late to get everyone out." 

"The patients?" Crowley asked, turning to look around as though he could see through walls to check who they'd left behind in exchange for their religious trinkets. But Aziraphale shook his head, huffing a bit as he bent to push against the wheel, trying to set it right with brute strength. Angelic strength, yes, but it wouldn't be enough.

“Patients left with the monks,” he gasped out, missing Crowley’s incredulous look, because _what_ , “The Sisters stayed here to try and save what they could. I was a day’s ride south and on my way back, and by the time I got here it was too late to convince them all to go.” Crowley knew he looked a bit dumb, standing there with his mouth hanging open, but sometimes he just couldn’t help it. _Humans._

“Right, time to go, I think,” he said, shaking out of his stupor. He snapped the wheel fixed, and didn’t miss Aziraphale’s pleased little huff, even though now definitely wasn’t the time. He could hear the fighting getting closer, and the nuns shuffling down the street pulling the cart along were definitely not going to be fast enough. He darted forward and shoved his weight into the cart with Aziraphale, and together they finally managed to get the cart moving, the nuns running alongside and trying to keep at least some of the relics in the cart. Behind them, Crowley heard the fighting finally spill onto the street beside the church. He cursed and turned back to push harder, but was distracted by Aziraphale, who had turned toward the clamor with determination in his eyes and a raised sword. 

“You can’t be serious, angel,” Crowley said, gaping at him anew and letting go of the cart so the nuns could keep moving. “You’re going to fight the humans? For what, other human’s religious baubles?!” 

"Well, I would really rather not," Aziraphale said, nerves straining his voice. They hadn't been noticed yet, and Crowley shoved against the angel's shoulder, pushing him further down the alley. 

"Time to go, now," he snapped. 

"But the nuns!"

"Just snap them to safety, Aziraphale! I'm not getting discorporated over a bunch of nuns who value some blessed statues over their own lives!" That would never go over Below. He had to figure something out. 

"I can't use that much power right now!" They whipped around a corner, and saw that the cart had gotten trapped by another group of Crusaders, who were advancing on the nuns with looks very similar to those Crowley had seen on a few of his coworkers when a demon was unfortunate enough to get too injured to fight. He swore and jerked Aziraphale to a stop, but the other end was blocked now too. 

"Crowley," Aziraphale said, voice low and panicky as he caught sight of the group behind them. Crowley didn't answer, too busy preparing himself for a bigger shift than he'd ever done. He could hear the clamor coming closer, a few of the nuns screaming in panic. He squeezed his eyes shut and gathered his power, lifting his hand to snap. 

"Crowley!" Aziraphale's shout came just as he let his power go, just as the rush of transportation swept over him.

Just as searing pain exploded in his side, whiting out everything else and barely letting him cling to their destination in his mind. 

Crowley woke abruptly, remembered pain making him gasp and flail upright. Cloth covered him and it took him several addled moments before he was able to realize it was a blanket. Then there were gentle hands on his arm, trying to still him. 

"Crowley, calm down, you're not done healing yet." Oh, that was Aziraphale. He didn't get discorporated then. Great, well done. He flopped back on the soft surface he was on, groaning quietly. Why did he feel like he'd been run over by that cart full of relics? Wait, the nuns. His eyes snapped open, finally taking in his surroundings. Aziraphale was staring down at him with naked relief, and they seemed to be in some sort of tavern room. 

"What happened?" he managed. He didn't see any relics, or nuns, or, most importantly, Crusaders wielding swords.

"You got the nuns safely out of the city, they're heading to meet up with the monks now," Aziraphale said, unable to stop the small smile, though he did take his hands away now that Crowley wasn't going to injure himself further. "Though you did manage to get stabbed in the ribs before you managed it, which I wouldn't recommend in the future." Crowley groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. It wasn't quite as bad as getting discorporated, but now he was going to have to explain why he saved a bunch of nuns and their religious doodads. Maybe he could say they were Satanic nuns. He should probably find some, at any rate. They could come in handy. He tenderly poked at his ribs, finding bandages wrapped haphazardly around his torso but no active bleeding.

“How bad?” he asked, finally getting a good look at the angel. That was when he realized the angel was favoring his left shoulder, sitting stiffly in the chair by the bed. His eyes narrowed, daring Aziraphale not to mention it.

“Well, one of them was quite a bit faster than the others,” he said, a hand reaching up to run over his shoulder, “He swung, and I got in his way trying to get to you. I think that’s why his sword merely grazed your ribs instead of going through them. You’d already started the transportation, though, and thankfully he didn’t get caught with us. You passed out as soon as we landed, but didn’t seem to be in danger of discorporating, so once I got you stable I sent the nuns on their way so they wouldn’t see your demonic healing at work. I-- I can’t than--”

“ _Don’t,_ ” Crowley hissed, cutting him off. He didn’t want the angel’s thanks, that would only get him into trouble. “I just didn’t want you pouting over the demolished church _and_ those useless relics. I was saving myself the headache.” He closed his eyes again so he could pretend not to see the pleased twist of Aziraphale’s mouth. He took an admittedly unnecessary breath, cataloguing all the little hurts through his body and the bigger one radiating through his ribs. On a human it might have been fatal, but his accelerated healing had left him with nothing more than irritating aches.

"How long?" How long had he been at the angel's mercy? How long had he left Aziraphale the only one able to defend them? 

"About a day," Aziraphale said after a moment's silence, "Any longer and I was going to start getting worried." The last part was said quietly, to Aziraphale's lap and wringing hands rather than Crowley. The demon scoffed, trying to keep his tone light and airy even though the thought of Aziraphale worrying about him, over anything, sent a feeling he refused to acknowledge seeping through him. 

"Nah, angel, don't worry about me," he said, shaking his head, "Just had to sleep if off." Something around the edges of Aziraphale's expression went soft, and Crowley suddenly couldn't stand it anymore. Expending quite a bit of power to save some innocents (nuns, no less) and getting stabbed and now having to deal with the angel being soft and open and--he needed a drink. Several. Several bottles, come to think of it.

Crowley rubbed a hand down his face and resisted the urge to sigh.

“I need a drink,” he muttered, massaging his forehead and trying to ignore the throbbing in his side.

“Oh!” said Aziraphale, “Yes, that sounds lovely. The tavern downstairs has some rather decent ale, I found it last year on my way through.” He was aware he sounded a bit too cheerful, but he hadn’t realized how worried he’d been about the demon until he woke up and started complaining. He’d been awfully still since Aziraphale brought him to the inn, and seeing him animated again was causing feelings the angel wasn’t going to look too closely at. He could really use something to take the edge off.

Crowley blinked at the angel, thrown a bit by his enthusiasm. Well, not for the alcohol, that was always ready to come out, but the thought of spending more time with him. But they’d already spent far more time together than was advisable. The Arrangement had only been in place about two hundred years, and when you’d already lived five thousand, that wasn’t much. Crowley was trying not to acknowledge that he felt a bit vulnerable, having spent so many hours at the mercy of the angel. Any other being on earth and he’d have been in serious trouble. He needed to get drunk, and he needed to figure out how to spin the power used to save those nuns in his report to hell, and the angel needed to go do…good deeds, or whatever he did when he wasn’t getting irritated at Crowley’s prodding. Crowley opened his mouth to say all this, to tell the angel it was time to move on.

So they were both a little shocked when what actually came out was, “Sure, angel. Lead the way.” Aziraphale blinked at him for a second before that delighted smile spread across his face. He turned towards the door while Crowley grimaced at himself and wondered what it was about those big grey eyes that rendered him incapable of saying no.

Several bottles later, and Aziraphale was going on about the medical advancements that he’d been encouraging at the church before the city got sacked, and Crowley found his thoughts drifting as he watched the angel’s hands gesture expansively. He wondered how the angel hadn’t been discorporated more often than he had. They’d both managed to bite it a few times over the centuries, but it hadn’t happened to either of them in at least a thousand years. The longer they went the more paranoid about it Crowley got. It was bad enough when he had to go Down Below to give progress reports, but he knew it would get tricky if he didn’t have a quick way out. And Heaven, the last time Aziraphale had been discorporated, it took almost ten years to fill out all the paperwork, and he’d been stationed on Earth long enough that they might recall him rather than issue a new body. Then where would Crowley be? Facing a new Adversary, one who couldn’t be talked around by things like ale and tea and charming little theaters. Crowley had only just managed to wrangle the Arrangement out of the angel, he couldn’t possibly be bothered to set it all up again with a new angel. No, the only thing for it was to make sure Aziraphale didn’t get himself discorporated. 

Crowley swirled the mediocre ale in his mug contemplatively, glad for his glasses keeping his eyes hidden. He let his eyes relax and shift, Seeing the angel’s aura. There was the regular gold, a streak of deep blue across his chest that appeared to be fading. There was a rosy pink mixing at the edge of the blue that was new, and he spent a few seconds puzzling it out before deciding it was probably the Love the angel always felt, amplified by the three bottles of alcohol he’d downed by himself. 

Crowley’s eyes darted down to his own hand, resting on the table, black swirling and coiling about his fingers. He rubbed his thumb and first two fingers together consideringly, an idea forming in his ale-logged brain. If he could somehow keep tabs on the angel, instead of just relying on them running into each other, he wouldn't have to worry about it when they were apart. He stretched his fingers apart, watching his aura cling to itself before pulling back to the separate digits. It probably wasn't a great idea. Aziraphale might try to kill him if he found out. It might do something unexpected to one or both of them. His glance went back up to the angel's face. He'd paused in his story and was trying to get the serving girl's attention, the tip of his pink tongue caught between his teeth and brows furrowed in concentration. Crowley passed over more coins in exchange for full mugs, and tried to ignore the angel's happy wriggle once he had the full mug in hand. 

Aziraphale launched back into his story, and the next time he gestured expansively he slid right off the back of the bench, eyes going comically wide, in a way that may or may not have been assisted by a little demonic miracle. (There was nothing anybody could prove, at any rate.) Crowley's hand lashed out and wrapped around one sturdy ankle, another little miracle used to keep the angel from actually hitting the floor. His thumb rubbed across the ankle bone, pressing a thumbprint of his aura there and smearing the edges of the angel's own warm gold aura into it to hold it down. It was all done in seconds, and he hauled Aziraphale back up onto the bench, righting the angel and trying not to stare down at his ankle, where he was now carrying a piece of Crowley himself. 

Crowley watched the spot the rest of the night, making sure it didn't move or expand. When it went the whole night just as still as when he first put it there, he allowed himself a breath of relief. Aziraphale would definitely kill him if he found out, but if this worked the way Crowley hoped it would, it would be worth it the next time he needed to pull the angel’s wings out of the fire. 

*****

The first time it happened, Crowley was in the middle of Tempting a young farm hand to abscond with the daughter of the local lord. It would cause a small local dustup that would disrupt trade routes on this side of the valley for at least the next decade, and would eventually lead to the lord in question having to sell off the land he didn't know how to manage and the servants he'd been abusing for years. The fact that the daughter had been in love with the farm hand for at least five years now, and certainly not with the neighboring lord who was at least twice her age, well, that was neither here nor there and no consequence of Crowley's. 

He had just finished outlining a plan for the lad, with the boy nodding earnestly and looking a bit green around the edges, when he almost doubled over at the pain in his stomach. 

"Lord Crowley, are you quite alright?" the boy asked in alarm, hands fluttering out as if to touch. Crowley held up a hand to stave him off, eyes squeezed shut to avoid them being seen if his glasses fell off. 

"No need to worry, Thomas," he said, gritting his teeth and taking stock of his body. It was a strange swooping in his stomach, right up under his ribs, and somehow the sensation of ice down his spine, abrupt and breathless. It wasn't too dissimilar from a rapid drop when flying, when you fold your wings in and free fall, with nothing between you and the ground but your own strength. 

He reached out with his aura tentatively, bracing for another wave of pain or some reaction from Aziraphale, and he found he could almost sense a path, like following a string between his corporation and the thumbprint of his aura he'd left on the angel. A general feeling of needing to go east, though he couldn't tell just how far. It couldn't be good, whatever the angel was feeling, and Crowley had to get to him now. He clapped Thomas on the shoulder, shoved a large bag of gold pieces into his hand, and wished him luck before hurrying out to the woods at the edge of the village he’d been staying in. He closed his eyes and focused on that gossamer thread of energy connecting him to the little piece of his aura, pulled all his considerable focus into figuring out where it went out, and spread his wings.

*****

The next time it happened, Aziraphale had somehow been held up by highwaymen escorting a painter to some church in Italy, and Crowley had only just managed to get there in time to convince the thieves there were better targets in the next town over. Not his fault that particular area was the territory of another rather bloodthirsty band of thieves who wouldn’t take too kindly to the trespassing. His angel was safe, and that was all that mattered to Crowley. 

*****

"Angel." Crowley pressed his lips together to fight back a grin, thankful for his glasses hiding his eyes. Aziraphale scowled at him and pulled on his restraints. 

"Don't you start." He was trying to inject a bit of dignity into his tone, but mostly he just sounded grumpy. Understandable, really, Crowley would be quite grumpy if he was tied naked to a stake and about to be set on fire as well. 

"I just--why are you tied to a stake? Naked?" The townspeople had all miraculously decided they needed to be somewhere else at the moment, but eventually somebody would remember the strange man trussed up like a bird. Humans never could forget violence for very long. 

"Well I do believe they think I'm a witch." 

"And how did they come to this conclusion?"

"Well the girl is so small, and she was frightfully ill, and I just wanted to give her just a little push, just to encourage her to heal! And for some reason the villagers had rather a different reaction." Aziraphale had his earnest face on. Crowley hated that face, with the eyebrows and the big grey eyes. When Aziraphale broke out that face Crowley knew he'd do whatever he could to soothe whatever was causing the angel distress. 

"Tch, of course. Why are you naked though?"

"Apparently a witch three villages over hid explosives and roofing nails in her skirts and blew up roughly the whole village. This one wasn't taking chances, I suppose."

Crowley shook his head, grinning a bit. Too bad he hadn't gotten to meet that "witch". She sounded like a good time. Aziraphale rustled his bindings again, eyebrows drawn up pointedly. 

"A little help, if you please?" Crowley's grin widened, a little bit wickedly. 

"Oh but angel, you know their fire won't hurt you," he said, slinking around the fire pit, "You know the only fire that can hurt you is Hellfire."

"Yes, and when their fire fails they'll move on to something even worse, probably sharp and pointy," Azirpahle snapped, his composure finally cracking a bit. His golden aura was shot through with the dark blue of his anxiety, and Crowley felt a fresh wave swooping under his ribs. He decided he'd had enough teasing. Besides, he could see several villagers starting to gather in the square, confused gesticulating quickly turning angry. Ooh, maybe they'd have a mob if he left it much longer. He raised his hand and snapped. The ropes dropped from around Aziraphale, and simultaneously dressed him in breeches and a loose shirt. He made a quiet, delighted sound and started rubbing at his shoulders in relief. 

“Best be off,” Crowley said, jerking his chin in the direction of the group looking more mobbish by the second. Aziraphale glanced over and straightened in alarm.

“Ah, yes, quite,” he said, “After you.” And together they hurried off into the woods where they could disappear without drawing any more attention.

*****

The less said about the Bastille debacle, the better. Honestly, if Aziraphale thought good crepes were worth getting discorparated over, Crowley had more than enough on his plate. Maybe he needed to start employing humans to keep an eye on Aziraphale, so he could get a bit more advance notice before the angel went and did something ridiculous like get himself beheaded. Now that he had a home base, so to speak, in the bookshop, he might be easier to keep an eye on. 

*****

By the time they hit the 19th century, Crowley had worked out a few things. The angel never seemed to notice the bit of demonic aura attached to his corporation, which was such a tangle of relief and worry that Crowley decided early on to just ignore it as best he could and make sure to know where any demon on Earth was at any given moment so his angel would never run into another being that could See the bit of aura and give the game away. Crowley only ever really felt the tug on his aura when Aziraphale was feeling threatened, but he could still locate the angel even if everything was fine.

Watching his note burning on the surface of the pond, feeling absolutely nothing radiating from his tenuous connection to the angel storming out of the park in a huff, Crowley realized something else. Apparently Aziraphale didn’t feel much of anything about Crowley constantly keeping him from being discorporated, if he couldn’t even help Crowley out with something that would help keep him safe if the forces of Hell found out about them. Snarling, he spun on his heel, heading back to his flat, and deliberately thinned out the connection as much as he could, until he had buried everything under much more demonically appropriate feelings.

And if, by the time he decided to lay down for a little nap, he felt more hollow and alone than he had in almost eight hundred years, well.

That was nobody’s fault but his own, apparently, and exactly what he deserved.

*****

"And that, lady and gents, is how we'll send ol' Adolf right on to his spot Down Below." Crowley gestured expansively at the table in front of him, and the map upon which there were several metal game pieces, a peanut, and multiple dashed lines, dotted lines, and enthusiastic arrows. There may have even been a mustached figure with devil horns and pointy tail in the corner, but Crowley would absolutely never admit to putting it there. 

"Can I get a wahoo?" He grinned at the six men and one woman gathered around the table for this particular planning session. They all stared back with varying degrees of dourness, except for one younger fellow with riotous dark curls and a quick smile, even in war time. Sheen, Crowley thought his name was, and found himself liking the lad in spite of himself. After a beat of slightly awkward silence, Sheen gave him a thumbs up and a vigorous nod of encouragement. Well, it wasn't a wahoo, but it would have to do. 

"It does seem to be a very thorough plan, Mr. Crowley," said a man to his right named Goldstein, leaning forward to inspect the map. 

"Think your people can manage it, Miss Argent?" another man said, eyeing the single woman in their midst. She was on loan, so to speak, from the French resistance. Her cousin had managed to seduce a rather high ranking SS officer and had managed to smuggle notes on the Fuhrer's whereabouts to the resistance. Crowley may or may not have risked a demonic miracle ensuring the cousin's safety as much as he could. Purely for the continued aggravation she could cause, of course. 

Argent tapped the map in a spot designating a rendezvous, where she was to meet a messenger from France in three nights time. 

"This one," she said in her softly accented voice, "may be a problem. This side of town, we have been seeing the bookseller, no? How will we know he is not playing spy?" 

Crowley, who'd been propped against the table with his attention starting to wander, promptly half fell off the table and only just managed to catch himself. 

"The what now? Who's playing spy?" he asked, trying to be subtle and knowing he was missing it by a mile if the way his voice rose an octave was any indication. Argent's mouth finally lost the dour pucker it was in, but only because it twisted into a mocking smirk. Crowley found he liked the scowl better. 

"The bookseller," she said, gesturing towards one of the men, who fished about in the bag at his side and produced several large photos. "He sells "rare books" and has been trying to double deal the Nazis. He's an idiot, and he's going to get himself killed." The mirth in her voice was bright and cruel, and Crowley found himself scowling in answer. Why did war time always make humans think they were capable of just--

Oh. 

Oh shit. 

That was _his_ idiot bookseller. 

"Still," rumbled another man, the biggest and most brutish looking of the bunch, "nice distraction, eh? The group he's playing with told one of my gals they was looking for books of prophecy, of all the damned things. Sounds like the whole lot o’ them are a bunch of idiots, but he'll keep them occupied. At least until they tire of him and kill him, o’ course." He let out a wheezing laugh and rummaged in his shirt for a moment before pulling out a flask and taking a generous swig. 

Crowley had been frozen and silent since the pictures landed on the table. Grainy as they were, he'd know those white blond curls anywhere. And even without the photos, how many functioning booksellers were there left in London? Especially if the Nazis were looking for books on prophecy? And it would be so like the angel to get caught up in something like this, thinking he could manage--what? Some sort of double cross? Surely he wasn't actually helping the Nazis? If Crowley couldn't even stomach them, how did the angel feel?

Crowley hadn't seen Aziraphale in eight years, and even that had been on accident. They hadn't spoken since that thing in 1917, and Crowley had even been contemplating another nap, but he wanted to stop by Germany first for their fall festivals before deciding. He ran into Aziraphale just outside of Berlin, and once the awkwardness had faded, he'd made the mistake of mentioning the holy water again. The fit Aziraphale threw wasn't quite as bad as 1862, but it still cut the visit rather short. Crowley had gone off in a huff of his own, but not before encouraging every art college within a hundred miles to reject every applicant whose name started with A. (Ridiculous letter, A. Thought it was better than the rest of the alphabet just because it was first. Pretentious. He was doing the world a favor, really. How many more art students did it need?)

But it was fine. He’d widened the connection back out, and his alarm bells weren't going off, so the angel wasn't in immediate danger. He'd just finish up here, go find Aziraphale, and in no uncertain terms explain that he was _not to go cavorting with Nazis. Honestly, angel._

"Which rendezvous point was it?" he asked, trying to act nonchalant as he slid his fingers over the map in the general area Argent had pointed to earlier. Her eyes flicked up to meet his, narrowing just a bit, but she stabbed one finger down on the map. 

"Here," she said, "St. Paul's church. Few of our blokes have seen him meeting two men and one woman here, though always separate."

Of course it was a bloody church. Crowley grit his teeth, resisting the urge to groan. Still, it was fine, he'd just have to go find these Nazis and get rid of them before they could hurt his angel, and then he could get back to his work. Which was _actual_ spy work, thank you very much. He gave himself a shake and tried to get back to the plan. He was thoroughly done with this stupid war. The last was supposed to have been the Great one, the War to End All Wars. Of course, humans tended to think that after every big upset, but most didn't have to live through two large scale wars almost back to back. 

So it was just his luck, really, that as Argent started tapping impatiently on the map, he felt it. That ice down the spine, the swooping just under his ribs, the gasp that wrenched its way out of his chest. Something was happening to Aziraphale. Probably the thrice-blessed Nazis.

With a garbled excuse about his stove or somesuch nonsense, Crowley left the other resistance fighters staring after him with varying degrees of surprise or suspicion as he rushed out to the Bentley. He took too many precious seconds to close his eyes and focus in on that wayward bit of his aura, trying to pinpoint the angel. It was fuzzier than normal, but it seemed to be coming from the general direction of the church Argent had pointed out. Crowley’s eyes snapped open and with a snarl the Bentley leapt onto the empty street. 

His feet hurt like the Dev- like he- rather a fucking lot, but at least with the church in rubble around them the holiness had calmed down a bit. He turned on his heel and gingerly picked his way through the rubble, expecting the angel to follow. When he’d gotten several feet and didn’t hear him scrambling to catch up, he turned around expectantly.

Aziraphale was staring at the ground, his books clutched to his chest, his eyebrows scrunched together and his mouth slightly open. He looked gobsmacked. 

“Angel?” Crowley called quietly, head tilted to the side. Aziraphale’s head whipped up, eyes widening as he took in the demon waiting for him. Crowley firmly told himself it was his imagination that the angel’s gaze seemed a little slower moving up his body, as if cataloging everything he had to offer. “Lift home?”

“Oh.” Aziraphale shook his head, as if dislodging unpleasant thoughts, and hurried to catch up. “Yes, dear. Um, the bookshop, if you’d be so kind.” Crowley bared his teeth a bit, but made sure he wasn’t facing the angel, made sure it couldn’t be misconstrued as threatening his angel.

“Not kind, just keeping you off the streets, angel,” he said, opening the door and seeing Aziraphale settled before he let himself shuffle a bit, trying to relieve the tenderness in his feet. He hurried around to the driver’s side, sighing in relief when he could take his weight of his feet. 

The drive to the bookshop was silent, but Aziraphale always seemed to need a bit of extra time to process these near-discorporation appearances. Finally, though, Crowley couldn’t take it any longer. 

“So what the deuce were you doing playing with a bunch of Nazis?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light and teasing and off the edge of panic that was just now easing off. He glanced over in time to see Aziraphale purse his lips and swing his gaze down to the books he was cradling in his lap. He sniffed primly and settled more firmly in the seat.

“If you must know, I was visited by those gentlemen weeks ago, looking for books of prophecy. Once they let slip that it was Hitler himself they were looking for, I had thought perhaps I could learn about his plans and...help somehow.” His voice had started out self-righteous, but by the end it had petered out, and his gaze went back out the window. Crowley cleared his throat uncomfortably, swallowing down the lecture on letting oneself get involved with Nazis, even if one was planning on double crossing them. 

“I’ve actually, uh, been working with MI6 agents,” he said instead, surprising himself so much he couldn’t even stop the next bit. “I could bring you in, if you like. If you still want to...help.” The small smile Aziraphale turned on him was enough to light up the car, and he couldn’t bring himself to regret encouraging the angel to keep doing ridiculously dangerous nonsense. Besides, as long as Crowley made sure the angel only did missions that were low-risk, or only went into the field with Crowley by his side, he could protect the angel and his own sanity at the same time. 

*****  
They were going to raise the Antichrist together. Crowley could hardly believe it. Everything (almost, almost, but never quite) he’d ever wanted, and he had only eleven years before it might go up in literal flames. And he’d had to beg and plead and bargain with Aziraphale, but the angel was going to help him prevent the end of the world. Crowley would be able to keep a much closer eye on him, and with more and more demons and angels popping up since everything had started rolling, he was thankful for the excuse to keep Aziraphale close. 

*****

The world was ending. Armeggedon was happening, and Crowley was planning on spending the end of the world parked at his favorite bar, downing whiskey as fast as he could. 

Aziraphale was gone, the bookshop was gone. Soon enough everything else would be gone too. He took another swig straight from the bottle, ignoring the increasingly alarmed looks from some of the other patrons. 

Fucking Hastur. Thousands of years he'd been able to protect Aziraphale, especially since the Arrangement, and the one Satan-blessed time he'd been too late, and it was more serious than all the other times combined. He kept reaching out to feel that bit of aura, only instead of the glowing thread he'd gotten used to over the centuries, his head rang out with nothing more than a dull thud. If he hadn't taken so long to deal with Hastur and Ligur he might have had a chance. Maybe after whatever the world became when Heaven and Hell were done with their little dust-up, he'd go pull the Duke out of the wiring and see how long he'd last when there was nothing left to lose. 

He never should've left the angel alone in the first place. He squeezed his eyes shut, thinking about how his last words to Aziraphale were about how he'd leave and never come back, how he'd be off in the stars and never think of him again. 

Even for a demon, that was a lie of cosmic proportions and a desperate bid to protect himself from the rejection. And Crowley knew he'd never have gone through with it. He would rather die than be permanently separated from Aziraphale, and the angel went and beat him to it. He lifted the bottle to his lips again, realized it was empty, and signaled for another, clicking his fingers in a small persuasive miracle when the bartender hesitated. Just as he cracked open the new bottle, the air in front of him started to waver. Oh, had he drunk himself to blindness already? But no, he pushed his glasses up, squinting suspiciously, and the wavers in reality coalesced into his angel. See through and fuzzy around the edges, but there he was. 

"Aziraphale?" 

*****

Crowley was trying very hard not to have some sort of breakdown, right in the middle of the Ritz. He'd made it through however many courses Aziraphale had decided on to celebrate their break from Heaven and Hell, but now he was about ready to crawl out of his skin. It hadn't quite sunk in yet, the fact that they were free, at least for a little while. But they were both alive, and they were here. 

"Shall we head out then, my dear?" Aziraphale said, setting down his dessert spoon with an air finality. Crowley started a bit, but he was still fast enough to miracle enough money to cover their meals, plus a tip that bordered on obscene. He could feel panic edging in as they strolled out of the restaurant. Would Aziraphale let him come back to the bookshop? He knew he was being clingy, but he didn't think he could be alone right now, didn't know if he could let Aziraphale out of his sight now that they could finally take a breath. 

Crowley slowed his pace even further as they got closer to the bookshop, unwilling to let this end. Aziraphale gazed up at the sign, smiling so wide his eye crinkled at the edges in the way Crowley especially loved. He turned his wild grin back onto Crowley, and the demon watched in fascination as it melted into something softer. They stared at each other for several seconds before Aziraphale seemed to become aware that they were just standing on his sidewalk.

"Ah, would you care to come in?" he asked, gesturing nervously to the door as though they hadn't been going through them for the better part of the last three hundred years. And even though this was exactly what Crowley was hoping for, his brain still stumbled a bit. After the last few days, he couldn't help feeling that one wrong move would send them back on opposite sides. 

"Yeah, angel," he said, looking everywhere but Azirpahale, "If-- if that's what you want, yeah." Aziraphale rewarded him with another soft smile and gestured him forward, where the bookshop doors opened obligingly. 

The angel spent nearly an hour wandering the stacks in his own shop, making remarks here and there about Adam's additions to the inventory. Crowley slouched on his couch in the back room, downing half the bottle of wine they'd opened and letting the angel's voice wash over him. 

"Dear, are you listening?" The question came from right in front of him, and Crowley jerked awake, realizing he'd fallen asleep quite without meaning to. Aziraphale stared down at him with that same soft smile on his face as Crowley sputtered. 

"Sorry, angel, I guess I'm more tired than I thought." He blinked hard, willing himself more awake so he might be able to stay longer. 

"Quite alright, dear," Aziraphale said, "Now that you're awake though, I did have a question, and I'd like an honest answer, please. But first, might I remove these? I'd quite like to see your eyes." His fingers rested on the edges of Crowley's sunglasses, soft and undemanding, and Crowley swallowed nervously. They stared at each other from inches away, but Aziraphale showed no signs of impatience while he waited for Crowley's decision. Finally, Crowley gave the tiniest nod, and waited breathlessly while the angel pulled the sunglasses off and set them carefully on a side table. Then he shocked the demon even more by settling next to him on the couch, rather than his usual arm chair. 

"Um," said Crowley intelligently. He wondered if he should sober up for this, but knew if he did his nerves might get the best of him. He stayed stock still as Aziraphale arranged himself, waiting for whatever the angel had in mind. 

"This week," he began, looking down at his hands twisting themselves into knots in his lap, "it's been very...stressful." Crowley couldn't help the snort of amusement that left him. 

"Bit of an understatement there, angel."

"Yes, well, it's still all sorting itself out in my head, I suppose. But I did have something to ask you. I was talking to Anathema, you see, before we left everyone in Tadfield. Lovely girl, we'll have to go back for a visit once things settle a bit." Crowley made a noncommittal noise. It might be a while before he could stand being back in that area, where they had almost ended. Where everything had almost ended. Still, the children had been entertaining, at least. 

"And Anathema, well apparently she's Agnes Nutter's descendant, can you believe?" Aziraphale shot him a quick grin, but it quickly faded into the face he made when he was nervous and trying not to show it. Crowley should definitely sober up, this was starting to sound like a way to let him down gently now that the danger had passed. He couldn't quite figure out what book girl had to do with it, though. Aziraphale licked his lips nervously and continued. 

"Anyway, as we spoke it came out that she can see auras, and she said that she'd noticed something...off about mine and asked me about it." Crowley felt his entire being still, panic starting to well up inside. Humans weren't supposed to actually be able to See auras, he'd never met one that could, in all his six thousand years on this dirt ball. Trust him to literally run into one of the few beings on the planet who could tell the angel his secret. He'd even been contemplating how to get that bit of aura on Aziraphale again so he could maybe ease up on the worrying and give the angel some space, but if he knew, all bets were off. They'd just gotten through the last fight, and here Crowley was about to ruin it again. He realized the angel was waiting for a reply and forced his mouth to work, trying to stay nonchalant in case he could spin this some other way. 

"What'd the baby witch ask you, angel?" Judging from the way Aziraphale's lips pursed, he might've missed the mark on nonchalant and landed somewhere in mild panic. 

"She said my aura had changed, since my being separated from Madame Tracy. She said when we...met her in the woods, it had been mostly gold and pink, but that there'd been a bit of black, down on my leg. And when Adam gave me my body back, everything else was the same, except for that spot." He was studying Crowley carefully, and the demon suddenly felt like one of the angel's rare books that needed restoration, all of his frayed edges laid bare. He sobered up the rest of the way, rubbing at the corners of his eyes. 

"I'm sure it was just in flux, angel," he said, flapping a hand dismissively, "You'd just been discorporated, possessed a human, and got recorporated by the Antichrist. Anyone's aura would be a right mess after all that." 

"She said that black matched your aura perfectly, Crowley." The words burst out of Aziraphale in a rush, and the look he gave Crowley afterwards was pleading and questioning all at once, and was there a bit of hope? Crowley swallowed and closed his eyes. He could play it off, tell Aziraphale the witch had no idea what she was talking about. She was human, after all. But lying to the angel now might break this fragile thing they'd managed to salvage, and Crowley simply couldn't live with that. He looked back over to where Aziraphale was fairly vibrating with nerves now that he'd got his question out. Though technically he hadn’t actually asked anything, but Crowley felt if he pointed it out it would not be received well. 

"That's because it was a bit of mine, angel," he said with a sigh, "I gave you a little bit of mine, and it...let me know when you were in danger." He looked away again, not wanting to see the disgust or dismay or anger that would bloom across those beloved features. 

"You...tagged me? With your aura? I didn't know something like that was possible." Aziraphale sounded puzzled, but not disgusted, so Crowley risked a glance over. 

"I don't think it would be," he said cautiously, "Not for humans, certainly, and maybe not even for other demons. Angels can't even See auras, so I have no idea about them." Maybe whatever quirk had allowed them to switch bodies was what allowed it work in the first place, he wasn't sure. It had just felt...right, with Aziraphale, carrying a bit of something that was so close to Crowley's very essence. He'd already been in possession of Crowley's heart by that point, what was a bit of whatever soul he had left? 

Aziraphale frowned, staring off into the distance. They sat in silence for a few minutes, Crowley wondering miserably when the angel would decide he'd had quite enough of clingy demons, thank you, there's the door, please never darken it again. When the angel finally broke the silence, though, it was beyond anything Crowley would have guessed he'd say. 

"Were you going to put it back?"

Crowley whipped back around, eyes wide as he stared in shock at the angel. Six thousand years, and Aziraphale was still surprising him. He was suddenly back on the wall of Eden, delighted by this angel who was different from the rest, who had done not what was expected, but what was right. 

"You-- what?" His voice was slightly strangled as he tried to contain everything, as he tried to squash the hope blooming in his chest. 

"Were you planning on putting it back?" Aziraphale wasn't meeting his eyes, staring instead down at his wringing hands. Crowley licked his lips and decided to go for broke with this honesty thing. 

"Yes," he admitted quietly. Aziraphale sucked in a sharp breath, and he hurried to amend himself. "I mean, I was planning on it, yes, but it's not-- not like I'm trying to spy on you, honestly it's not! I never tried to do anything like that! It was just when you were feeling threatened, when you were panicking. It let me find you." He desperately wanted to reach out, still those fidgeting hands with his own and soothe the tension he could see in every movement the angel made. 

"When did you put on the first one?"

"After Constantinople." Aziraphale finally looked at him, eyes going a bit wide. He spread his hands out helplessly. "I was tired of relying on chance. We'd both already been discorporated before, and it was taking longer and longer to get back each time. I wondered if there'd come a time where they simply wouldn't let you come back. I'd only just gotten you to agree to the Arrangement, I didn't want to have to train a new Adversary." He grinned at the angel, but he could tell it was weak. 

"Constantinople was the first time since the Arrangement that either of us had been in serious danger," Aziraphale said, "It was the first time I seriously worried about you." His voice had dropped to almost a whisper, admitting things he'd hardly even been able to admit to himself at the time. But he was sitting a bit straighter, had managed to still his hands from their fidgeting for a moment. Crowley was dreading whatever was going to come next. 

"Crowley, why did you ask for the Arrangement, all those years ago? Why do you always come back to me, protect me, even when I'm being ridiculous?" Aziraphale was staring straight at him now, and Crowley had to close his eyes and exhale shakily. 

"We're friends, angel, that's what friends do."

"Just friends?" And there was a shaky undercurrent in the angel's tone, something Crowley definitely wasn't prepared to deal with. 

"Aziraphale, don't make me say it, you have to know why, by now." 

"I'm afraid I need you to specify, and I'd still like an honest answer." Aziraphale was holding himself so carefully, like they were in a house of cards one small breeze away from toppling to the ground. Crowley took an unnecessary breath, rubbed his hands across his face. He braced himself on his knees, hands covering his face so he could at least pretend he was alone in the darkness. 

"I asked for it because I was already in love with you, and I wanted to see you more," he finally said, bracing himself for rejection. It would kill him, no matter how gentle Aziraphale was in his let down, but the angel asked for the truth, and Crowley was rubbish at denying him. He glanced up when the silence had started to stretch on. Aziraphale was staring at him, eyes wide, lips parted, utterly frozen. Crowley glanced around, wondering if he should make a swift exit while he still had a shred of dignity. Then, like a sunrise over a canyon, that blinding smile was back, transforming Aziraphale's face. 

"That's wonderful to hear, my dear boy, because the feeling is quite mutual." 

"What, really?" He could not possibly be hearing this. This kind of thing didn't happen to demons, he didn't deserve something this bright and good. 

"Really," Aziraphale said, smile a little watery. Slowly, he reached out his hand, laying it face up on his knee. He watched Crowley carefully, waiting to see what he would do. Crowley swallowed nervously, his gaze darting between the angel's hand and his face. In the end, only the thought that if he took too long Aziraphale might change his mind and withdraw broke him out of his frozen state, and he cautiously reached out and wrapped his long fingers around Aziraphale's shorter ones, hardly able to believe he had permission to do this. 

"I think I felt it, sometimes," Aziraphale said, rubbing his thumb absently across Crowley's hand in a way that made concentrating difficult. "Sometimes I felt almost like you were with me, when I was...struggling, or feeling lonely. And you always showed up when I most needed you, and I just could not figure out how you knew to find me. It wasn’t until 1941 that I was certain, though."

"1941? With the Nazis? Noticed what?" Crowley blinked slowly and forced his brain to focus. 

"Yes, with the Nazis." Aziraphale's smile got a bit bigger. "I was already so overwhelmed, because you'd come back, it had been so long since we'd been comfortable with each other, and you still came for me! And you saved my books!" He stopped and positively beamed at Crowley, who thought it was probably a good thing his lungs were mostly decorative, because he was struggling to breathe at this point. 

"And after you dropped the bomb on us," Aziraphale continued, "you and I were the only living things on the block, and I realized I could feel your presence in two places, over by the Bentley and right next to me, almost wrapped around me. I started paying more attention after that, and sometimes your presence felt so real, but I wasn't sure it was something you did on purpose, and I was afraid that if I brought attention to it, you'd stop doing it, and frankly by that point I suppose I'd gotten quite used to it and you stopping would have quite upset me." By this point, Aziraphale had stopped looking at Crowley and was staring down at their clasped hands. It seemed he had traded in the nervous hand-wringing for rubbing across Crowley’s knuckles.

“I knew,” Crowley said, then had to swallow when it came out a croak. “I did it on purpose, and I’m sorry, I didn’t ask for permission because I knew you’d say no. But it let me help you, keep you safe. I couldn’t risk you going to Heaven and never coming back, but I am sorry.” 

“Well, given all that’s happened,” Aziraphale said with a watery chuckle, “It seems it ended up working well. This time, though, I do think it’d be best if we did it together. I think I’d quite like having another piece, if you’re amenable. Adam didn’t get everything right, but he was very close.”

“You really want that, angel?” Crowley asked, “Even though I never asked? You don’t feel different about it now that it’s gone?”

“I’m sure, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, squaring his shoulders, “I’m choosing it this time. And I want to give you a piece of mine, if I can. I want you to be protected, too.” Crowley stared at him, mouth slightly open in shock. 

“Ah, would that be okay?” the angel asked, suddenly sounding small. 

“What? Yes, absolutely, if you’re sure, of course it’s okay!” Crowley burst out, both his hands fluttering up to grasp the angel’s shoulders as the other being did one of his full-body wiggles. 

“Oh, lovely! So how do we do it?” he asked, leaning forward expectantly.

“What, now?!” Crowley said in a voice that definitely was not a squeak, thank you.

“No time like the present!” Aziraphale said with a grin. Crowley rolled his eyes, smiling fondly, and let his gaze waver a bit, slipping into the Sight. Then he blinked in surprise. Aziraphale’s usual golden glow was still there, but it was almost obliterated by the light pink radiating out from his chest. Come to think of it, that glow had been getting stronger the last few decades, starting right around WWII. He’d thought it was just the general love the angel felt for humanity, but maybe it was specifically for Crowley? He let out a shocked breath.

“Are you alright, dear?” Aziraphale asked, laying a hand gently on his arm.

“Yeah,” Crowley breathed out, “Yeah, I’m just always blown away by how beautiful your aura is.” He watched in fascination as the pink flared brighter and a flush spread across Aziraphale’s cheeks. He grinned and leaned closer.

“Oh, you liked that, didn’t you?” he purred, “Me telling you you’re beautiful? It’s the truth, and I’ll tell you every day, until you get sick of it.”

“Wily serpent,” Aziraphale murmured, but he had the same lovestruck look he usually reserved for little tea cakes in fancy tiered trays, so Crowley just grinned at him. 

“Where do you want it?” he asked, wiggling his fingers. “Same place?” He was trying not to think too hard about what came next, the fact that Aziraphale wanted to try marking him back. If he thought too hard about he was going to self-combust. 

“Ah, well, the ankle is a little low, don’t you think?” Aziraphale asked, wringing his hands again. “I was thinking more, well, more like this. If that’s alright, dear.” And he laid his hand against Crowley’s chest, right over his ridiculous human heart, which kicked up into a gallop as the warmth from the angel’s hand seeped through his clothes.

“Yeah,” he wheezed, “Yeah, nope, sounds good, s’alright with me.” He ignored Aziraphale’s pleased grin as best he could, and raised his hand to mirror the angel’s.

“So, when I did this the first time, I sort of gathered up my aura, and I just kind of-- nudged it into yours and folded the edges of yours over it so it wouldn’t spread. I didn’t-- I wasn’t sure it wouldn’t, I dunno, infect you somehow, being a demon’s aura.” He couldn’t help the way his eyes darted away, but Aziraphale gently grasped his chin and turned him back. He leaned forward slowly and placed a gentle, chaste kiss on his lips.

“It’ll be fine, dear,” he whispered, “I trust you.” Crowley licked his lips, feeling like his brain had short-circuited. This afternoon had absolutely not gone the way he thought it would, and he could not be happier with that fact.

“Right,” he said, “right, yeah, ok. Um, right.” He shook his head to clear it as Aziraphale chuckled and eased back. Crowley rubbed his fingers together, gathering the black wisps of his aura, and slowly placed his hand on the angel’s chest, concentrating. When he pulled back, there was a perfect black handprint over the angel’s heart, and he felt his own mood dip a bit. Aziraphale must have sensed the change, because when he looked up from grinning down at his own chest, his smile went soft around the edges.

“Dearest,” he said, “You once told me you couldn’t Feel love, but I know now that you can See it. Do you want to know what you Feel like to me?” Crowley blinked at him and nodded, bracing himself. Aziraphale closed his eyes, concentrating.

“You Feel like the first soil in the Garden, rich and dark and bursting with life. You Feel like being cozy by a fire when the weather is awful outside. You Feel like home, Crowley.” Crowley blinked rapidly and snapped his mouth shut. He was supposed to be the silver-tongued one, and here Aziraphale was, completely scrambling his brains with a few earnest words and one little kiss. 

“Now, help me put one on you, dear boy,” Aziraphale said, opening his eyes and grinning brightly. Crowley huffed in amusement and reached for his hand again.

“Okay,” he began, cradling the angel’s hand in his own. He concentrated and smoothed his fingers along the edge, gathering a bit of pink-gold in the pale cup of his palm. “So, like I said, I just kind of concentrated and pressed. I can See it, but you can’t, so I’m not sure this will work, but maybe just kind of press the Feelings in?” He shrugged his shoulders. He frankly had no idea if this would work, but as long as they were trying Aziraphale was sitting close enough he could feel the angel’s heat radiating off him, smell his cologne. There were much worse ways to spend an afternoon.

“Alright, let me give it a try,” Aziraphale said, brow furrowed in concentration. He even stuck the tip of his pink tongue between his teeth as he laid his hand once again on Crowley’s chest. The demon held his breath, staring down at where they touched. There was a small flare of gold, and as Aziraphale pulled back, he left behind a glowing print of his own, a small radiant spot of pink right in the center. Crowley grinned wildly and whipped his head up. Aziraphale, seeing the grin, broke out in one of his own.

“It worked?” he asked breathlessly. 

“It did, I love it, I love you, thank you!” Crowley swept the angel into his arms and planted a kiss right on his mouth. He didn’t pull back until they were both breathless with it, but he didn’t go far. 

“Oh my,” Aziraphale said, “That’s quite lovely, dear.” He looked a little dazed.

“Hm, well, I think I can do better than lovely, angel,” Crowley murmured, crowding close again.

“Yes, I rather think an extensive study is called for,” Aziraphale said, “It will take quite a while, I’m afraid, so I hope you’re prepared.” The flare of love radiating off of Crowley was enough to drown in, and Aziraphale was quite content to stay right where he was for the foreseeable future. He had nothing scheduled, after all, and no obligations beyond showering Crowley with as much love as he possibly could.

“I think you’ll find I’m quite prepared, angel,” Crowley purred, pulling him close. 

Inside a bookshop in Soho, an angel and a demon set about exploring their new world.

Outside a bookshop in Soho, the world turned on, just as it had done for six thousand years, and would for many more.


End file.
